Stand In
by SakuraMacaron
Summary: When Izaya convinces Namie to kill some time with him, it doesn't turn out as expected.


**Stand In**

Notes: Minor tweaks/extra stuff added to the original fill on the DRRR! Kink Meme

"Oi, Namie: When was the last time you had sex?" Izaya asks. The casual tone of his voice makes him sound as though he were inquiring about something as mundane as the time or what's on TV.

"If you have time to think about that, perhaps you should try getting some work done."

"Ah~ but I'm all finished~" he announces, the chair beneath him squeaking as he leans back dramatically. "My hard-working assistant leaves me with so little to do, I have nothing but idle thoughts to alleviate my boredom. Isn't that just terrible?"

"Tragic. Why don't you put an end to your suffering and kill yourself?"

"You're so harsh." he laughs, slumping down, pretending to be brutally wounded by her words. "Maybe you'd loosen up a bit if you got laid."

"Please don't proposition me because it's past your fan girls' curfew. It's disgusting, even for a pervert like yourself." Namie fires back curtly.

"..."

"Really, if you're that horny, go in the bathroom and masturbate like everyone else."

"Is that how you cope with your one-sided love for your little brother?" he drawls, more concerned with returning the favor for her previous jab than the answer.

"..."

He strolls to her work area, punctuating the trek with a lazy twirl.

"How sad for both of us." he notes, without the slightest ounce of pity. He hovers over her; just close enough to make her body tense. "Me, without a lovely companion to spend the night with, and you, without Seiji. Wouldn't it be best to help each other out?"

Drawing nearer, he adds in a confidential whisper," I'll even let you say his name as much as you want."

His lips warp into a cruel grin, and she's unable to decipher if he's serious or not. Just as she's about to ask, he provides the answer:

"I'm not joking, you know. -Not that I'm serious, either. I couldn't care less who I sleep with, but if it kills two birds with one stone, why not you?"

In a split second, she runs down a list of every possible reason why it could be a terrible, terrible idea; from the simple fact he could tease her, or have one more thing hold over her head, to secretly having cameras throughout his bedroom to catch her on tape and blackmail her with. And yet, even as she considers this, she finds herself reaching for the hem of her sweater.

"Fine. If you think you can last more than five minutes, you'll do for now."

She doesn't know if he interpreted her words as an insult or a challenge, but finds herself pressed up against a bookshelf before her sweater even hits the ground. She still doesn't know if this is a mistake, but as his hands snake up her thighs to undo her skirt, it isn't as revolting as she imagined.

She has to admit, he's a fantastic actor, when he wants to be. The way his lips barely caress her collarbone, how his fingers trace light swirls across her skin, teasing the edges of her underwear; his imitation of tenderness is probably enough to make some starry-eyed girl go weak in the knees. Her feet, however, remain firmly planted on the ground, even while he places airy kisses up her neck, slipping a hand under the thin lace of her panties. It isn't long until she can feel them growing damp, as his nimble fingertips rub against her clitoris, and she sighs, not out pleasure, but as if to say,

screw the foreplay, let's get this over with.

Taking her cue, he sucks firmly on the side of her neck, driving two fingers inside her as deep as he can. Her breath hitches as he forces her to the tips of her toes, grinding his palm against her. She hisses, the sound dissolving into an uncharacteristic whimper. He chuckles a little when he hears it, and the combination of that and the smug expression on his face makes her stomach turn.

He turns his fingers a couple degrees to the left, and feels her grip on his shoulders slack, a ragged gasp ripped from her throat. Sex, like everything else, could be deconstructed, organized into the elaborate code of movements, expressions and vocalizations. For someone like himself, it was simple enough to decrypt all of it with terrifying efficiency and precision. He watches her expression shift, from helplessness, to pleasure, to regret, all spiked with hatred- for him, naturally, but also for her. He adds another finger to join the others with sadistic glee.

"Right now, you're thinking, 'how can make me feel like this? How does he know to touch me here... or here... exactly the way I want to be touched? It's written all over your face, you know. All I have to do is follow along, just like a video game walkthrough." he taunts her, cackling derisively.

She looks away, as though it would take away his power and make him stop. It's then she concludes, that more than the sex itself, her employer got off more on knowing how to- and proving- that he could manipulate a partner's reactions any way he pleased. At this point, she wouldn't be surprised if he came before she did, but she's so close to the edge, coherent thought is becoming a distant dream.

"Right there!" he backs away and pulls his fingers out, and she grabs the bookshelf, just to keep from falling over. "You were about to come, weren't you?"

Unable to deny it, she glares at him accusingly.

"Stop messing around."

"Now, now. Can you honestly hate me for doing this? After all, you're the one who's benefited the most." He approaches, and tugs at her underwear like a child opening a birthday present. "Let me take a look at you."

Once stripped, he steps back again, scrutinizing her like a piece of art in a museum, or some rare creature at the zoo. The usually cool beauty, now completely naked, on the verge of collapse, face flushed, eyes dilated and impatient, the insides of her thighs glistening from his handiwork. He whistles appreciatively at the sight. She has a lovely body. Too good, in fact, for a younger brother who wants nothing to do with her.

"My, my, what would Seiji think if he saw you like this?" he wonders aloud.

The cold stare he earns in response feels like an icicle driven through his heart.

For a second, he expects her to walk out, but instead, she wordlessly grabs his hand and drags him to the bedroom. She yanks his shirt over his head, her small hands running across his chest. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she draws him closer by his waistband, but just as she's about to take them off as well, he puts his hands on hers and stops her.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks, though it's clear he doesn't care.

He slips his thumbs into the waistband, posing coyly, as if about to do a strip tease, should she request one. It's a cue for her to say things like "oh god, I can't hold back anymore," "please take me," or "I want you," the way all his doting followers do.

She only stares back, nonplussed.

"Quit stalling." she mutters, dispassionately.

"You're killing the mood."

"You're wasting my time."

Her words are all he needs to do away with his pants and underwear. Refusing to let her take the lead any further, he shoves her onto the bed. He crawls on top of her, hands roaming in a state of calculated chaos, squeezing her breasts, grabbing her hips to push into her in one go. He compiles everything from his previous observations into one dizzying whirl of touches; bites and thrusts that make her mind go completely blank.

She arches into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, her body tightening around his cock. And even in this moment, the urge to mock her is impossible to resist.

"It's good, right? Better than you expected." he thinks aloud for her, whispering in the shell of her ear. "I wonder if your dear, beloved Seiji could fuck you the way I can."

She closes her eyes, and envisions her younger brother's lips on hers, that it's his hands exploring every inch of her body, and his length plunging in and out of her. Perhaps he wouldn't be as skillful, but with practice, he'd surely improve, and it would be her greatest joy in life to patiently guide him every step of the way. In her thoughts of Seiji, she's able to forget how the information broker is manipulating her, every hateful thought in her mind melting away, until there's only a shining image of the object of her affection.

He watches an annoyingly familiar shade of pink dust her cheeks, hears her call out her little brother's name, over and over. It irritates him more than he wants to admit, maybe not because he wants her for himself, but certainly because he's more accustomed to being the one girls cheated on their lovers _with_. He kisses her deeply, busying her tongue with his, just so he doesn't have to hear that boy's name again. As orgasm washes over her, she moans into his mouth, and a few moments later, he releases as well.

Rolling off of her, he stretches out on the bed, like a cat. As soon as she catches her breath, she rises, and starts to fold the clothes he abandoned on the floor.

"It's bad form to call out another person's name in bed, you know," he laughs as though he's told a joke, the sound laced with a faint hint of bitterness.

"I know what you're thinking," she taunts him while she pulls his shirt on, casually, like it belongs to her. "I was the one getting her off, so why would she think of him? Even though letting her say his name was my idea, I didn't take it as well as I thought I could."

He can think of more than a few good retorts, but allows them to go unsaid. The morning light starts to filter in warm slivers through the blinds, but to him, the room suddenly feels colder than it did minutes before. Feeling the chill, he turns away and pulls the covers around himself. In the silence, a heartless smirk crosses her features.

"Go ahead and sulk until you die. If you can't handle being someone's replacement, you shouldn't have suggested it," she states in a voice dripping with malice.

He hears her footsteps grow fainter, the sound of water filling the teakettle, and it being set on the burner. As he replays the events of the night in his mind, the sound of her brother's name repeating in his head makes his expression sour. She's right about the way it bothers him, and worse than that, she knows she's right. He truly underestimated her this time, but just as he considers his own defeat, he recalls the way she looked threading her hair through the neck hole of his shirt, the mark he left on her neck on full display.

She can hear his maniacal laughter ring from the bedroom, and as she pours his tea, she fantasizes about slipping Potassium cyanide in it.


End file.
